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Tonight i started my occasional reread of The Dark Is Rising, that iconically witchy and spooky Newbury Award winner...
as the kids say these days
#mood
thinking back on the rest of the year, I have to admit that some really good things got done.
rephrase.
I DID some really good things. Some hard things.
possibly one of the hardest things i did was to really write a proper apology for something I said and did when i was sixteen, dumb and lonely and hurting. I lashed out at someone from that place, someone who I thought was part of my hurting but it turned out, not.
we connected on facebook sometime in the last year and a half or so. and I wound up offering an apology, and sharing the WHY of me hurting him intentionally, because i had done that, and I hoped that having context would help him let go of any lingering bullshit from that moment in time.
turns out, I'd only ever spoken about this to therapists. well. therapist. And now that #metoo has entered the global lexicon, it finally felt safe to speak of it, where I felt so much shame about being bullied in the particular way that led me to lash out at E.
i've been describing the release of sharing that story, as like when you get a long deep redwood splinter in your hand. and you work for awhile and you get MOST of the splinter out but the tail end is still stuck in there for AGES and it gets infected and it's painful and you just have to work around it for a long time.
and then one day, you wash your hands in just the right way, and that last bit gets released. Adn you can work it free, finally, and finally you can heal the infection, work out the scar tissue. Un-adapt all the habits you built because that fucking splinter had (I have a momentary reluctance to own this word for my situation but) WOUNDED you.
the particular type of bullying and the story i told around it at the time opened the door wider for me to be in abusive romantic relationships for *counts* at least 10 years? Probably longer.
that splinter is GONE, now.
and I told E. he didn't have to reply to my story but that I hoped he'd accept my apology.
and Elizabeth Regnant, self-crowned, walks out from the shadows and into the light, claiming the throne and crowning myself.
I had so much power and I had no idea.
I had so much potential and I couldn't see it.
I was bound for so long by the stories the world told about me.
I am not bound.
I understand my potential.
My power is clear and near at hand.
I am the storyteller.
Old women are the keepers of the stories.
Old women are the truth tellers.
Old women don't tolerate bullshit, and we enunciate clearly when the emperor has no clothes.
Storytellers are dangerous, we change worlds.
We heal. We make things right, even if just in the story.
We break things in the story so that everyone can recognize the brokenness in their homeworld.
Storytellers are full of power. In some ways of thinking, it's the only power.
If you tell the stories and people believe them, those stories change lives.
Stories... are everything.
every belief system is made of stories. every political movement is made of stories.
every human relationship is made of stories.
See the stories clearly.
Tell the stories wisely.
Demonstrate your love and your understanding through your stories.
Don't fling them about frivolously.
as the kids say these days
#mood
thinking back on the rest of the year, I have to admit that some really good things got done.
rephrase.
I DID some really good things. Some hard things.
possibly one of the hardest things i did was to really write a proper apology for something I said and did when i was sixteen, dumb and lonely and hurting. I lashed out at someone from that place, someone who I thought was part of my hurting but it turned out, not.
we connected on facebook sometime in the last year and a half or so. and I wound up offering an apology, and sharing the WHY of me hurting him intentionally, because i had done that, and I hoped that having context would help him let go of any lingering bullshit from that moment in time.
turns out, I'd only ever spoken about this to therapists. well. therapist. And now that #metoo has entered the global lexicon, it finally felt safe to speak of it, where I felt so much shame about being bullied in the particular way that led me to lash out at E.
i've been describing the release of sharing that story, as like when you get a long deep redwood splinter in your hand. and you work for awhile and you get MOST of the splinter out but the tail end is still stuck in there for AGES and it gets infected and it's painful and you just have to work around it for a long time.
and then one day, you wash your hands in just the right way, and that last bit gets released. Adn you can work it free, finally, and finally you can heal the infection, work out the scar tissue. Un-adapt all the habits you built because that fucking splinter had (I have a momentary reluctance to own this word for my situation but) WOUNDED you.
the particular type of bullying and the story i told around it at the time opened the door wider for me to be in abusive romantic relationships for *counts* at least 10 years? Probably longer.
that splinter is GONE, now.
and I told E. he didn't have to reply to my story but that I hoped he'd accept my apology.
and Elizabeth Regnant, self-crowned, walks out from the shadows and into the light, claiming the throne and crowning myself.
I had so much power and I had no idea.
I had so much potential and I couldn't see it.
I was bound for so long by the stories the world told about me.
I am not bound.
I understand my potential.
My power is clear and near at hand.
I am the storyteller.
Old women are the keepers of the stories.
Old women are the truth tellers.
Old women don't tolerate bullshit, and we enunciate clearly when the emperor has no clothes.
Storytellers are dangerous, we change worlds.
We heal. We make things right, even if just in the story.
We break things in the story so that everyone can recognize the brokenness in their homeworld.
Storytellers are full of power. In some ways of thinking, it's the only power.
If you tell the stories and people believe them, those stories change lives.
Stories... are everything.
every belief system is made of stories. every political movement is made of stories.
every human relationship is made of stories.
See the stories clearly.
Tell the stories wisely.
Demonstrate your love and your understanding through your stories.
Don't fling them about frivolously.
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